


Lazarus (The Only Way Out is Through Me)

by kowaiyoukai



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Going to Hell, Grief/Mourning, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Psychological Drama, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers, Stream of Consciousness, Unrequited Wincest, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-25
Updated: 2008-07-25
Packaged: 2017-10-30 20:08:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/335582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kowaiyoukai/pseuds/kowaiyoukai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story of things coming full circle. The beginning and the end were the same, for them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lazarus (The Only Way Out is Through Me)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [siriuslyyellow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/siriuslyyellow/gifts).



> Written for the June 2008 round of [wincest_fic](http://wincest-fic.livejournal.com/). Challenge: siriuslyyellow, deal, Hell, rescue, "I knew you would come." Now, I know I did her challenge last month, and I specifically wasn't going to do another challenge for siriuslyyellow this month. I had it in my mind and everything. It was like a mantra. But she CAPTURED ME VICIOUSLY using bait that she knew I could not resist! I knew I was going to do her challenge as soon as I saw it. It's not fair. She's my twin so she knows these things about me, like my weakness for angst. She can play me like a fiddle. I even CHEATED and started this fic earlier than the 6th! OH! The agony of it all! Blame her and not me. It is not my fault! She lured me! This challenge was the bait, and I've been hooked like a wriggling fish out of water! You should feel bad for me, really you should. Also, wtf my mind?! Where is the wincest? When am I getting to the wincest?! That's what I thought for the first few thousand words (read: vast majority) of this. ;_; I wish I had more time with this, to get it to be more like how I pictured it to be, but it's the 30th and sometimes you just have to accept the inevitable.
> 
> Also, if Sam's eyes are the wrong color, it's my fault. After looking at icons, screenshots, and posters, it was still a choice between brown, green, and blue. Do they change Sam's eye color for the shit of it, or is it just me? O.o;;
> 
> This is like an **EPIC**. I demand feedback of epic proportions in response. Beta'd by siriuslyyellow who said, "Holy shit, what did you _do_?!"

Sam didn't remember a time when Dean wasn't there. In fact, the only times he could recall when Dean had been absent were when he had been at Stanford, and even then Dean had seemed to be waiting for him just outside his vision. Sometimes, when a class had gone on for too long or he had stayed at the library working on a report until it closed, Sam expected Dean to be waiting for him, outside, leaning against the nearest wall and looking bored and slightly irritated at having been so put out. He expected Dean to be there, always, ready to lead Sam into some dangerous situation that he would also save Sam from, when the time came.

Dean was always the one doing the saving, Sam thought. Even when he wasn't there, even then, it was still Dean who led him, who saved him. Sam never thought it would be any other way.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

The most obvious answer was also the hardest. Use his demon powers. If he trained himself to use his powers, he could kill Lilith and get Dean. It would be tough, he was sure. There would be hundreds of demons out to kill him, but since Lilith's powers didn't work on him, he figured he didn't have too much to worry about.

"Sam."

After all, the demons who followed Lilith couldn't be more powerful than she was. Otherwise, they would fight her and win. That was how demons worked—they all wanted power. They all wanted to rise to the top of the food chain. So, he would have to get past lots of weak demons. That wouldn't be too much of a problem… as long as they didn't gang up on him.

"You've got to get up."

Even if they did attack him all together, he knew he had demons that supported him. If he could gather his backers up and explain that he was willing to take control of the army, he was sure they would still support him. They'd been waiting for him to start fighting against Lilith. They would probably be overjoyed at the thought of finally getting rid of her.

" _Sam_."

The only problem he could think of was if those demons had changed sides. They were demons, after all. There was no guarantee he could count on them for anything. Ruby was the perfect example. She had said she was supporting him but lied about finding a way out of the deal. Demons were liars, and he couldn't trust any of them. But he had to. If he wasn't able to trust any of them, there was no way he would be able to save Dean.

"Here, at least eat something."

Unless he didn't need anyone else's help? Maybe he could figure out a way to save Dean without using his powers. Using his powers would put him closer to becoming a demon, and Dean would be ticked as all… he'd be pissed off when he found out. He needed to make sure that things would be okay when Dean got back. He needed to make sure that things would be normal, that they could fall back into their routine.

"Sam?"

He couldn't even imagine what it would be like if that wouldn't happen. He knew he needed Dean next to him, grinning and cracking jokes and refusing to talk about anything that mattered. It was just a matter of going to get him. So he couldn't do anything along the way that would get Dean mad, like become demonic or make another deal. Dean had specifically said he didn't want that sort of thing to happen. He wanted Dean back, and he wanted Dean to be happy.

"… I'll check in later."

Nothing else mattered.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

The smell of pancakes drifted around Bobby's kitchen. He was sitting across from Ellen, drowning his breakfast in store-bought maple syrup. She was leaning back in a wooden chair, eyes closed and head tilted to expose most of her neck.

"You sure you don't want any?" Bobby asked, stuffing a forkful into his mouth.

Ellen shook her head. She sat up straight and looked at the closed door off to the left—the same door she had been looking at once every two or three minutes since she arrived.

"How long's he been like this?" she asked for the fourth time.

Bobby sighed and put down his fork. "I told you already, since we got back."

"But that was…" Ellen trailed off and did some quick mental calculations. "What, two months ago?"

Bobby shrugged. "About."

Ellen shook her head. "What happened? How'd you get him here?"

Bobby ate another forkful of pancakes. "Dean's deal went through."

"I know," Ellen said, softly.

Bobby swallowed and pushed some pieces of pancake around on his plate. "We couldn't stop it."

"I know." She spoke even softer.

"Sam, he…" Bobby stabbed his fork in a piece of pancake but didn't lift it to his mouth. "We carried Dean to my truck. We left."

Ellen nodded and let her elbows fall onto the table, hard. She clasped her hands in front of her face and looked over at the door again. "Where's Dean now?"

Bobby shook his head. "I don't know."

Ellen looked up sharply at Bobby. "What?"

Bobby shook his head. "That first night, right after, I had just put Sam in his room and I went to sleep myself. Next morning, I wake up, Sam's gone, my truck's gone." Bobby paused and took a fast gulp of his coffee. "Sam comes back, truck's empty. Didn't tell me anything about it. I asked, but nothing."

Ellen's mouth was drawn in a tight, thin line. The blood had drained out of her face and her eyes were wide. "What'd he do with the body?"

Bobby shrugged and didn't answer.

Ellen closed her eyes and sighed. "How is he?"

"Besides not eating or sleeping and only coming out of his room to tear through my library?" Bobby chewed pointedly. "Fine."

"Tear through your library?" Ellen asked. She shook her head and looked over at the door. "Why? What's he want?" Bobby's silence went on for much longer than it should have. It stretched on until Ellen, unable to wait any longer, asked, "What are you thinking?"

Bobby ate another piece of pancake. He swallowed it and took another swig of coffee. "Trouble."

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

The books in Bobby's library were all yellowed with cracked pages and broken bindings. They had been put to years of good use, giving hunters the answers they needed to destroy a spirit or kill a creature. There were all sorts of books in this room—books on plagues and diseases, books on rituals and curses, books on spirits and mythology, books on demons and monsters. They all had information that someone had used at some point. They all had been helpful in the past.

Sam just needed to find the one that could help him _now_. He didn't know what information could be used to save Dean. He had started with the most obvious two months ago. Anything related to demons and making deals with demons. After scouring those for two weeks and coming up empty, he had moved on to the next topic—souls. After that, it had been any religious texts that spoke of an afterlife. Then, he had moved down to any deals made with any supernatural creatures.

As the weeks passed and nothing turned up, he got desperate. The book he was currently holding was a detailed account of one poltergeist that had haunted one town in northern Wisconsin for years. Sam lifted a hand and laid it over his eyes. This was getting him nowhere. He knew it, but he couldn't think of anything else to do.

He had thought out what was required in saving Dean. The first step would be to acquire the contract for Dean's soul. When the idea had popped into his head, the original plan had been to just get down there, grab Dean, and come back. But after reading through a few texts, Sam had to admit that wouldn't be possible. He should be able to go there and get back as long as he was alive—it would be difficult, but it wasn't impossible. Dean, however, wasn't… well, his soul was stuck down there, and according to some contract Lilith had, that's where it belonged.

But Sam had remembered the first time they had encountered the crossroads demon. Dean had made a deal with her that had annulled someone else's deal. That one guy, what was his name, he had sold his soul to save his wife, and Dean had made a new deal that got him his soul back. But that man had still been alive. His soul had still been in his own body.

How would he even put Dean's soul back in Dean's body? Assuming he obtained ownership over Dean's soul—and how businesslike this whole situation was, how heartless and consumerist—Sam should be able to do with it as he pleased. Maybe if he just willed it back into Dean's body, it would go?

But even if Sam got Dean's soul and willed it back into Dean's body, would it matter? The contract had already been filled. Dean's soul had been paid. Could he get a… well, a refund? If he did, would it mean that the original deal was reversed, was made like it had never happened? Would it mean that Sam would have to die in Dean's place?

There was only one way for Sam to get the answers he needed. He closed the poltergeist book and stood up, walking resolutely to his room.

He needed a picture of himself for this to work.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

"Sam."

Ellen's voice came through the walls of his room, accompanied by a knock. Sam ignored her, shifting through the materials at hand. He still needed to pick up a few things for the summoning to work. Damn demons and their ridiculous rules. The picture of him, Sam understood. A few cat bones? Some graveyard dirt? Those sorts of things made no sense at all.

The door opened, and Sam threw a sheet over himself, covering the assorted stuff on the bed as well. He looked up, eyes narrowing at the intruder. He didn't have much time left. He was already working as fast as he could. There was no time to be bothered, no matter who it was.

Ellen stood a few feet away from his bed, arms folded over her chest and feet spaced apart. Sam glared at her until she finally shifted her feet and looked down.

"I was hoping we could talk." Her voice was softer than it had been through the door. Sam wondered at the sudden change in her attitude, but it was irrelevant. She would leave as long as he didn't answer her.

"I know you don't want to talk," Ellen continued, still looking at the ground. "To me or to anybody. I get that." She paused and took a deep breath, then looked up and stared at Sam. He looked back at her, wondering what she wanted. "But Sam, it's been two months. Maybe you should think about talking about it."

"About what?" Sam asked almost against his will. She looked concerned, and she had been helpful in the past. Sam might need to call on her again, once things had settled down. It never hurt to have hunters as friends.

Ellen's face tensed. The lines around her eyes tightened, her lips thinned and pressed together, and her shoulders slumped a little. "About Dean."

Sam looked at her, still not understanding. "What about him?"

Ellen took a step closer, awkwardly. "I thought you might need someone to listen."

Sam raised an eyebrow and shook his head. "I've got nothing to say." He scratched the back of his neck and then continued, "And anyway, I'm sort of busy, so if you don't mind…?"

Ellen swallowed and then sat down on the edge of Sam's bed, looking at the wall directly across from her. Sam moved further away from her, shifting the materials under the blanket as he did so. "I can't even begin to imagine what you're going through. But I'm willing to listen to whatever you've got to say."

"Look, Ellen, that's nice of you, but I really—"

"Dean's dead, Sam." The words came out of Ellen quickly, as if that would make them any less painful to say or hear.

"No—"

"He's dead, and he's not coming back."

"No!" Sam shouted. He flung the covers back, jumping up to stand in front of Ellen. "You don't know what you're talking about!"

Ellen's gaze locked onto Sam's. "What's all this?" She gestured to the items that were now in disarray across the bed.

Sam glared at her. "I don't have to listen to this."

"What _is_ all of this, Sam?" Ellen asked again, voice hardening. She stood up, facing Sam without any weakness in her eyes.

"Get out." Sam's voice was hard, unforgiving.

"What are you planning to do?" Ellen's voice wavered a bit, belying the steel in her eyes.

"I said, _get out_." Sam's voice, sharp and cutting, was suddenly too loud for the room. They both took a step back, away from each other. Sam swallowed and looked towards the opposite wall, away from Ellen's face. "Please."

Ellen walked towards Sam and put her hand gently on his arm. "You have to accept the fact that he's gone." Her hand tightened. "You've got to let him go."

Sam's gaze didn't waver from the spot on the wall. "Please," he repeated, this time in a monotone.

Ellen let her hand drop. She turned around and walked out of the room. As soon as she was gone, Sam closed and locked the door.

Now no one else would bother him.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

The tin box in his hands was rusty. It had creaked when he opened and closed it, giving Sam an unintentional warning. The creaking reminded Sam what he was doing. It reminded him that he was specifically going against what Dean wanted, specifically falling into the trap the demons had laid out for them. It reminded him that once he did this, there was no going back. This decision was final. Unalterable. There would be no more deals after this one. They would have nothing else to trade.

The creaking also reminded Sam of why he was doing this. It was for Dean. So, it didn't matter what the consequences were. It didn't matter that Dean would be furious, that Dean would try to find a way out of this deal, that in ten years—maybe even less, maybe only a year, maybe nothing at all—Sam and Dean's positions would be switched. He didn't care about any of that. What mattered—the only thing that mattered—was saving Dean.

It might not even work. He had shot her in the head with the Colt, after all. The demon was most likely dead, but…

It was the only way.

Sam looked around him, judging the distance, and then knelt. He quickly dug up a few inches of dirt, stuck the box in the ground, and piled the dirt back on top of it. Standing up, he stomped on the ground a few times to make sure the dirt was packed in tightly.

Then he squared his shoulders and waited.

"My, my. I didn't expect to see you here."

Sam whirled around towards the voice, immediately stopping when he saw a woman. He vaguely noticed some details about her—the red on her lips matched the tight dress she wore, the short blonde curly hair, her arms crossed over her chest. But the only important thing was that she was there. She was the only one, and she hadn't been anywhere a moment ago.

"Who are you?" His voice came out rough, hard, and angry. He might need to deal with this demon, but he still wanted to know the terms and who would hold his contract. "I thought I killed you."

The demon rolled her eyes. "Well, you didn't kill _me_ , now did you? Otherwise, I wouldn't be standing here talking to you." She uncrossed her arms and put one hand on her hip while she gestured with the other. "You didn't think they'd keep this position vacant, did you? Making deals at crossroads is a very lucrative business for us. We have to keep it going." She paused. "Speaking of going, I'll be doing that now."

As she turned around, Sam had a moment to wonder. Why was she leaving? Could he stop her? What was going on? Didn't these demons normally try to make deals?

"Wait," he said. She stopped and turned to look back at him. "I want to make a deal."

"I gathered that," she said, so dryly Sam was offended. "Do you think I'm an idiot?" Sam was silent, waiting for her to continue. "You killed the last one of us you called here. I'm not going to hang around waiting to be slaughtered." She turned around and began walking away once more.

" _Wait_ ," Sam said, almost shouting. His voice sounded desperate, even to him. "I need to get the contract for Dean's soul. You _have_ to deal with me!"

The demon stopped and turned around, staring at him from several feet away. "Afraid not, Sam."

"Why?" Sam asked, knowing how pathetic he sounded but simply not caring. "I'm willing to do it! I'm willing to do _anything_!"

She shook her head and shrugged. "You've got nothing to deal with."

"What?" Sam asked.

"You can't make a deal," she returned, crossing her arms over her chest once more.

"What are you saying?" Sam asked, confused. "Of course I can make a deal."

"I'm saying your soul is already ours." The demon spread her hands wide, indicating the uselessness of the situation. "You've got nothing we want."

Sam's breath stopped. He stared at her, trying to figure out what she meant. "No," he said, shaking his head. "My soul is still mine. I haven't made any deals. Ever."

The demon smirked. "Well, Sam, here's the thing. Those powers you've got? The ones you're so loathe to use? They come at a price." She raised an eyebrow at him. "Guess what it is."

Sam swallowed. "But I never agreed to—"

"Life's not always fair, Sam. Them's the breaks." She tilted her head to the side and looked at him, actually studying him for the first time since she arrived. "Actually, you _can_ do something for me."

"What?" Sam asked, quickly. Perhaps too quickly, judging by the way her teeth suddenly gleamed in the moonlight.

"I want you to kill my boss," she said.

"Lilith?" Sam asked, hesitantly. "You want me to kill Lilith?"

"You know I can't tell you who my boss is." The demon sighed. "But you already know that my boss holds the contracts, and you know which demon that is. So it shouldn't be too hard to put it together, even for you."

"Why?" Sam asked, shaking his head a little. "Why would you want that?"

"Why?" she repeated, and then her smile turned feral. "I want you to take her place."

"No," Sam said, swallowing thickly. "I can't."

"You're going to kill her anyway," she said. The demon looked directly at Sam, peering at him closely. "Someone else will rise up to take her place once she's gone. They'll always be another Lilith. I want the next one to be you."

Sam was already shaking his head harder. "No," he said, firmly. "No."

She shrugged. "All right." For the third time, she turned and began to walk away.

"I can't!" Sam called after her. "I just can't do that!"

She left suddenly, a plume of dark black smoke writhing up into the night sky. Sam looked at the body lying on the ground for several minutes before he dug up the box underneath his feet.

"I can't," Sam said aloud. But the only other person around was the unconscious woman, so no one heard him.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

The entire problem was that he could, and he knew it. The demon had been right. He _was_ planning to kill Lilith—right after he got Dean back. They would hunt her down together, so that they both could get the satisfaction of watching her suffer. Of course, he didn't know exactly how they were going to go about killing her, especially since she had the Colt thanks to Bela's manipulations. But he was sure they would find a way.

All of that could wait until after he saved Dean. They could plan together and figure this out just like they always did. Sam just had to concentrate on saving Dean… in some way that would not make Dean furious with him when they got back.

But that was looking to be close to impossible. The more Sam pondered it, the more he realized he was going to have to do something that Dean wouldn't approve of.

And he didn't care.

At this point, wanting Dean to be okay with his methods was just a desire that was holding him back. Sam knew anything that could bring Dean back would be something Dean would want him to avoid. Dean had wanted him to just go on, living his life and hunting and maybe even being normal without Dean in the picture.

Well, Dean was gone now. He didn't get a say.

The first few days after Dean had gone had been… horrible. Really bad. Sam didn't remember the majority of it. He remembered lifting Dean into Bobby's trunk and then just sitting there, staring at Dean, wondering how things had come to this. Dean never should have made the deal, Sam remembered thinking. Dean should have left him dead and gone on living. Now their positions were reversed and all Sam could think of was bringing him back.

How could Dean have thought Sam would just go on without him? What had Dean been thinking? That Sam would just let Dean stay in… stay there while Sam bought a house, married some chick, had a few kids? Didn't Dean know what he meant to Sam?

Sam shook his head and focused on the current problem. He slammed the book he had been looking through shut. This was the third time he had looked through this book. He was getting nowhere. Dean was suffering, and all Sam could do was look through musty old texts and hope to find something useful.

He shook his head, feeling a red hot anger boiling up inside of him. He was sick of this. It had been over two months. The only things he had to show for his time were a collection of paper cuts and a migraine that kept on getting worse. Dean was in trouble, he was probably being tortured or—Sam's mind veered away from the thought. But why? Why avoid it? Dean _was_ being tortured, had been for the past eight weeks and three days, and Sam was just sitting here doing fucking _nothing_!

The book he had been reading suddenly flew up and away from him, slamming into the far wall and falling to the ground. Sam glared over at it, expression hardening. He hadn't meant to do it, but it had felt good anyway. Dean didn't want him using his powers; Dean wanted him to go back to college and become a lawyer.

Sam stared hard at the book lying across the room. What he had thought before was still true. Dean _wasn't_ here now.

Sam didn't have to do what Dean wanted anymore. He didn't have to shy away from using his powers. He didn't have to ignore Dean's plight and move on with his own life. He could do what needed to be done, to get him back.

Using his powers didn't make him a demon. Nothing could make him a demon.

Sam concentrated on the book on the floor until it lifted up into the air, hovering several inches above ground.

He smiled.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

When they had been young, so young that Sam hadn't even held a gun yet, there had been a tree house. Sam didn't remember where it was or how they had gotten there, just remembered Dean grabbing his hand and then they were there, in that strange time distortion that all very old memories possessed. The tree house had been huge to him—three stories with plumbing and central air, a chimney sticking out of the top and branches sticking out of that. His mind remembered the hugeness even though he knew it must have been a lie.

They were on the roof of it, what Sam now thought must have been the single wooden floor that most tree houses were made of, but what had then seemed to almost touch the clouds with how tall it was. Sam didn't remember climbing up it, although he must have. He must have grabbed onto whatever rickety ladder had been placed against the tree and leaned heavily on it, too afraid to look down or up as he climbed. Or else there had been no ladder, there had only been the tree itself and whatever handholds he could find in it. He could see himself, all bones and messed up hair, reaching for the branches to grab on to but never quite managing to do more than brush his fingertips against them. He could see Dean, scrambling up before him and reaching down, holding out his hand for Sam to clasp, until their fingers closed around each other's wrists and Sam was lifted off the ground, finally able to reach the branch with the help of the few extra inches that Dean had offered him. Sam didn't remember if it had happened, but the more he thought about it, the more it seemed like reality, until he was so sure Dean had lifted him up that he would have bet his life on it.

Then they were on the roof, after Dean had helped him get there, after Dean had grabbed his hand twice—once to lead the way and once to lift him higher. They were standing on the edge of the roof, somehow time had passed and there they were, Dean next to Sam and both of them with the tips of their sneakers just over the ledge. Dean had grinned at him, called him a chicken, said there wasn't anything to be afraid of, which wasn't right because he hadn't been standing next to Dean at all. He had been standing in the middle of the platform, legs frozen stiff in place and watching as Dean inched closer and closer to the edge. Dean had kept on grinning until he had fallen, grinned as he fell, grinned as his face disappeared over the side until Sam couldn't see him at all. Sam had rushed forward, crying out, arms reaching to close on solid air. His hands had clenched around Dean's arms, who hadn't fallen yet, who was about to fall, who had already fallen and was simply standing there, on the edge, waiting for Sam to pull him back.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Ava had been right. Using his powers was so easy.

After eight days, Sam was confident in his abilities. He was able to move things around at will, to lift and throw them wherever he wanted. He even had a dream that he knew was a premonition. It was of some woman crying for help. Sam had woken up smiling, knowing he was finally getting control over his abilities.

There was no hesitation within him anymore. There was no doubt, no wondering about the consequences of his actions. With these powers, he could save Dean. With these powers, that he had unknowingly and unwillingly exchanged his soul for, he could make his life just how it used to be. Everything could go back to how it had been. Just him and Dean, on the road, hunting evil things—together. Sam got out of bed, the sheet folding itself behind him.

Everything felt so right.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

"I didn't expect to see you again." The crossroads demon smiled at him. It was in another young woman's body, and this time Sam didn't pay any attention at all to her form. "And so soon, too," she added.

"If I kill Lilith, what happens to the contracts that she owns?" It was the one question that had been bothering him, the one question he needed the answer to in order to continue.

The demon shrugged. "They become yours."

"Which means?" Sam hated talking with demons. They never said what they really meant. They were always circling around subjects, never getting to the point.

She looked at him as if he was slow. "Which means you can do what you want to with them."

Sam swallowed. "And I could give them back to their original owners?"

The demon paused, taking a few steps away from Sam before turning around and crossing her arms over her chest. "Look, Sam, that's not how things work."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked, staring at her. "If the contracts belong to me, I should be able to give them back to their owners."

"You're not thinking this through." The demon shook her head. "These people sold their souls. It's not something they can just get back. At least, not without paying for it."

"So I make new deals with them, give them back their souls if they do something else, something I choose," Sam said, thinking as he spoke.

"No, Sam," she said. "The way it works is that someone calls me," and here she pointed at herself with an overabundance of flair, "or another demon who is able to make a deal. That person creates the deal with that demon, the contracts go to the boss."

"So, if I kill Lilith—"

"You would take her place," the demon finished. "As my boss."

"Then, couldn't I order you to just stop making deals? And I could get you to try to make new deals for the contracts I would have, right?" Sam shrugged. "Seems easy enough to me."

"Sam." The demon took a step forward, putting one hand on her hip and gesturing with her other. "You could order me to stop making deals. But I would still have to come if someone called me. And trust me, people call me." She sighed. "Could you potentially make new deals for the other contracts? Yes. But how would you get those people to contact me? There's a clause in the contracts that states that I won't attempt to change the terms of the contract in any way. Trying to get them to make a new deal to break the original contract goes against the terms everyone agreed to. It also goes against my job, and if I don't do my job properly, there are other demons who would try to kill me to take my place."

Sam shook his head. "So, what are you saying?"

"I'm saying," she said, pausing dramatically before continuing, "that this system has been in place for longer than you can imagine. You can't change it, and if you try to, someone is going to come after you."

"So, it's pointless for me to kill Lilith, then," Sam said, closing his eyes and shaking his head. "I'll just be in her position and unable to help anyone."

"Well—"

"Hey," Sam said, opening his eyes and interrupting the demon. She looked ticked at having been cut off, but she motioned for him to continue. "Does anyone who kills Lilith take her place?"

The demon laughed. "Are you stupid?" Sam assumed this was a rhetorical question. "How many demons have you and Dean killed, not to mention all the other hunters out there?" Sam assumed this was _also_ a rhetorical question. "Do you think all of those demons were just pawns? That none of them had any positions of power or authority? Don't you think, if anyone who killed a demon had to take over their place, that you and all of your little friends would be quite a bit busier?"

"Wow," Sam said. "I wasn't expected to answer any of those."

The demon rolled her eyes. "My point is, you don't have to take on the job of the demon you kill. There's a hierarchy in place, a system so that no spot will ever be left open."

Sam paused. "But then if I kill Lilith, won't the next demon in line step up to take her place?" The demon looked at Sam, hard, staring at him until he felt distinctly uncomfortable. "What?" he finally asked, glaring back at her.

"You really _are_ an idiot," she said. "You're the next in line. You're the one who's going to take her place, once she's gone."

Sam blinked. "What?" He shook his head. "That's impossible. I'm not a demon."

The demon shrugged. "It doesn't matter what you think you are. What matters is that you were supposed to step up to lead, you didn't, and Lilith did. Technically speaking, Lilith is _under_ you." At Sam's blank look, she said, "She's your subordinate."

"Then why is she trying to kill me?" Sam asked, still trying to wrap his head around this idea.

"Because," the demon said, drawing the word out much longer than it should have been. "She wants to be first in line to the throne, as it were. You're standing in her way."

Sam shook his head, eyebrows furrowing and mouth curling in contempt. "That's it? _That's_ what she wants? She can have it."

"No," the demon said, speaking slowly and clearly. "She can't. You're the first one in line for the position, whether you want to be or not. As long as you're alive, she'll always be second. That's why she wants you dead so badly," the demon explained, voice getting faster and higher. "That's why she's been after you, because she wants your position and she can't get it."

"Why are you telling me all of this?" Sam asked. "There's nothing in this for you."

She stopped, her whole body going rigid. "There is something in this for me," she said. "I want my boss out of the picture."

"Why?" Sam asked. "If it's not her, it's just going to be someone else. You said it yourself."

Her eyes narrowed. "I don't have to explain myself to you," she said, suddenly furious. "Either you want to make the deal or you don't. You don't need anything else from me other than that."

"Fine. You don't want to explain, fine." Sam paused and swallowed heavily. This needed to work. "But I want to alter the deal."

The demon immediately calmed down, regaining her cool disposition. "I already told you, Sam. I can't take your soul. You don't have one to give."

"That's not what I'm talking about," Sam said quickly. "I'll kill Lilith, but the only contract I want is Dean's."

"Did you listen at _all_ the first time I went through this?" She rolled her eyes. "Whoever kills Lilith gets all the contracts. That's—"

"Hear me out," Sam interrupted. "I'll just hold on to Dean's contract. That way, I'll just have control over his soul."

"Didn't I say this already? You _can't_ get Dean's soul. It's too late." The demon crossed her arms across her chest. "That deal is over."

"It's not too late," Sam said. "I'll give you all of the other contracts, and in return you give me access to hell."

The demon paused. "What are you asking?"

Sam breathed deeply. "It's simple. I kill Lilith and hold on to Dean's contract. You grant me safe passage in and out of hell in exchange for the rest of the contracts, I go in and grab Dean's soul. I take it out with me, Dean comes back to life, right?"

"If you remove Dean's soul from hell, it'll become trapped in the contract. After you get back, you'd need to first annul and then destroy the contract." The demon paused. "It could be done, though. I could annul his contract. _After_ you hand over the other contracts to me, of course."

"So we have a deal?" Sam asked, standing very still. He had known the idea of the contracts belonging to her would be a good bargaining chip. All demons wanted power. They all wanted to rise up in the ranks. He had known this would work.

The demon nodded once, tightly. "All right. We've got a deal." She walked quickly towards Sam, grabbed the back of his neck, and kissed him. Her lips tasted like dirt and bones, like something both alive and dead. Sam stood very still, waited until she let him go, and then took two steps back and spit on the ground near her feet.

"Nice," the demon said. "Subtle, too."

"We're done here," Sam said.

"I'll be expecting your call."

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Killing Lilith was not as hard as Sam had thought it would be. He had assumed that she would be hiding, gathering troops together to assault him when she was ready. He had figured she would be careful now that she knew her powers didn't work on him.

What he hadn't figured in was that desire for power she had. That need to destroy all obstacles in her way—Sam hadn't factored that in. It was only a few days after his deal, a few days of traveling and researching and planning, that she appeared. She was still in the body of a young girl, a disguise that would do her no good here. The Colt was in her hand, and a simple thought from Sam had it spiraling through the air towards his outstretched arm.

After she appeared, it was only a few seconds before she was dead. Her body fell to the ground with a thump, limbs twisting at wrong angles and eyes wide with an emotion Sam couldn't name. The Colt in Sam's hand was smoking, just like in the movies. Lilith was dead, and staring at the young girl's body sprawled on the ground in front of him brought a smile to Sam's face.

The smile vanished suddenly as dark black cords shot out of the girl's body. They were too numerous to count, and as one they all twisted midair and headed straight for Sam. There was no time to react, no time to do anything but brace for the impact. When they hit, though, they simply went straight through Sam, making no noise at all. He turned around, expecting to see them shooting out into the distance behind him. But it was clear—nothing was around. The black cords had vanished into his own body.

Then Sam realized—they must have been the contracts. He had killed Lilith, and now he was in possession of who knew how many souls. Sam closed his eyes and tried to locate the contracts, specifically Dean's. He felt them inside of him like a dead weight. Each one felt slightly different, and if he concentrated on one of the feelings, he knew the terms of that contract. There was a woman who had wanted to become a rock star, a man who had asked to travel the entire world for free, a girl who had wanted the guy she liked to fall in love with her, a young boy who had wanted his parents to stay together—thousands of them, all different people from different walks of life, all wanting things that were beyond their capability to achieve alone. He couldn't help but wonder if it was worth it.

It was easy to separate Dean's from the rest. The completed contracts had a different feel to them, and anyway he already knew how Dean felt. He mentally separated Dean's contract from the rest, tucked the Colt into his bag, and headed for the Impala. It was time to finish this deal.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

The entrance to hell was a simple black portal. Nothing fancy—no wind was blowing, no unexplainable lights or sounds. Just a tear in the sky right next to them. The crossroads demon gestured grandly at it.

"There you go," she said. "I'll keep this passageway open until you return. Just make it quick. The longer it's open, the harder it is for me to remain undetected." Sam nodded and walked through, careful to check that the Colt was still secured in the waistband of his jeans.

As soon as he was through, the world changed. Although he had researched before he left, there had been too many accounts of hell to go through. All of them described it differently, and in every religion there were various rules about how the whole place was run and what would happen when you got there. The most famous were the pits of fire, separation from God, little red monsters poking sinners with pitchforks—that sort of thing. But there were other accounts, as well. Some described a desolate ice world or a never-ending pit or watching your loved ones being tortured in front of you. Some had demons torturing the sinners, others claimed it was simply being in hell itself that was the torture. The only common thread Sam had been able to find among every description of hell was they were all horrible. Going through descriptions of hell was like reading a litany of humanity's worst fears and nightmares.

Even with that for preparation, Sam was surprised by what he saw. It was a huge black space, extending outwards in every direction. There was no difference between the sky and the ground, except that somehow when Sam stepped forward his feet touched something solid and he was able to move ahead. There was no chance of seeing anything, but Sam also had the feeling that there was nothing to see. Everything was simply black, as though the world had been plucked from existence and only the hole from where it used to be remained. He glanced behind him and saw a small tear in the blackness that was obviously where he had entered from. Sam immediately worried about finding it again, but then realized that he was able to… _feel_ the entrance, just like how he could feel the contracts. Slightly more confident now that he knew he could definitely make it back safely, Sam started moving forward at a steady pace.

Just as he began wondering how he would ever find Dean, Sam took a step forward and a doorframe appeared. It was literally just the frame of the door, wide enough that Sam could walk through if he wanted to and also completely transparent. He looked in for a moment, only long enough to see a woman struggling in an ocean, appearing to drown as she writhed and gasped for air. The water moved in front of the door frame but did not fall through. Rather, it seemed that the woman and the water were both trapped within this doorframe.

Sam took another step forward and found himself staring at a different doorframe. This one was just the same as the last one, a black rectangular twisted wire frame, except in this one there was an elderly man surrounded by beautiful women. Sam squinted a bit and saw that the man had his eyes closed. One of the women reached out and the man opened his eyes, only to immediately scream as all of the women in his line of vision were horribly mutilated. Some were decapitated, others were ripped apart, one looked as if she was being eaten alive. The man closed his eyes again for only a second before another woman reached out, initiating the cycle all over again.

Sam tore his gaze away and continued forward. With every step, he witnessed a new type of hell. Some of them were confusing, such as the woman who was bound to a chair and stared at a blank white wall. The majority of them, however, were horrifying. Sam did his best to check inside only long enough to ascertain that Dean was not in the room before moving along.

Then Sam came across a doorframe with a woman being tortured. He was about to continue on when he realized that one of the contracts inside of him was thrumming—giving off a strong vibration throughout his mind. Sam nearly hit himself upside the head when he realized what that meant. The contracts were like beacons towards the people who were tied to them. If Sam focused on Dean's contract, he would be led straight to him, instead of this random searching.

He quickly focused on Dean's contract and felt a tug. Sam turned slightly to follow the pull he was feeling, walking quickly past all of the doorframes that appeared around him. He felt the tug get stronger and stronger until, suddenly, a doorframe appeared in front of him and the contract thrummed so strongly Sam felt dizzy. He looked through the doorframe, seeing only a maze of crossing chains and what appeared to be some sort of a lightning storm, complete with fog and eerie atmosphere.

Dean had to be in that doorframe. Somewhere. Sam walked in without a second thought, feet stepping securely on what looked like air. As Sam walked forward, he moved his hand out to lift up the nearest chain, only to have the chain dissolve on contact with his fingertips. He paused briefly, then waved his hand through another chain, which also disappeared. Sam continued walking, thankful and not too concerned about his sudden ability to get rid of the chains that were everywhere. He walked on the air, which was good since there was no ground as far as he could see. In fact, as soon as he had stepped through, the entire world around him had changed yet again, this time mirroring what had been in the doorframe. Sam looked backwards once to make sure that the doorframe was still visible. Once he saw that it was, he moved swiftly forward, intent on following the thrum of the contract to Dean.

Walking through Dean's hell was nerve-wracking. Sam didn't know what the chains meant or why the lightning storm was so menacing, but he certainly knew that Dean would be terrified. Each hell was specially made for the individual residing in it, and based on how awful Sam felt just by walking through it, he could only imagine that Dean would be a wreck.

Then he saw a shape, the only shape he had seen so far, and he knew it was Dean. Sam began walking faster, then flat out running, sprinting towards Dean with every bit of energy he had. His arms pumped at his sides, his legs stretched as far as they could go, his feet hit the ground in a steady rhythm that was faster than he had ever heard it. The shape began solidifying, becoming clearer and closer, until finally Sam knew it was Dean. The contract thrumming within him got so heavy he had to breathe harder, and just looking at Dean after all this time made breathing an impossible feat. He was still far away—too far. He was screaming, calling out for Sam, and Sam wanted to catch his breath to scream back, but he couldn't. He just kept on running, getting closer and moving faster, wondering if Dean had ever stopped screaming his name, if Dean had been calling for him from the very beginning.

Then Sam realized Dean was facing the other way. He couldn't see that Sam was coming, and Sam couldn't move any faster than he already was, but he tried anyway. His feet ached, his whole body rejected moving for any longer, but Sam pressed on, knowing Dean was right there, waiting for him. Then, suddenly, he was just behind Dean, not twenty feet away, able to see individual hairs on his head and the backs of his ears. He kept moving forward, panting now, until he launched himself at Dean, throwing his arms around Dean's neck and burrowing his face in Dean's hair. Dean screamed, voice hoarse and clearly terrified, but Sam held on tighter, rubbing his nose into the back of Dean's neck and murmuring comforting nonsense under his breath.

Dean's scream died off and he tried to turn his head, but Sam was already letting go and moving around to face Dean properly. Dean was suspended in air a few inches above the ground, hanging by chains, and so they were eye level when they finally saw each other. Dean's face looked ragged, bruised, bloody. There were tear streaks down his face, as well as dried dirt and lines around his eyes. His lips were chapped and swollen, his limbs were being stretched too far apart from his body, and his clothes were in shreds. But when he saw Sam standing in front of him, Dean's face broke. His lower lip trembled and he bit it, sucking in breaths quickly. His eyes filled with unshed tears, and when he blinked he didn't even notice that they fell. He only stared at Sam, disbelief etched across his face.

"Sa—" Dean started, cutting himself off. He swallowed thickly, pressed his lips together, and ignored the tears that fell down his chin. "Sam?"

Sam swiped a hand across his eyes to get rid of the tears that he only just now noticed. He nodded and then reached up, waving his right hand through the chain suspending Dean's left arm in midair. The chain disappeared and Dean's arm dropped, limp and bruised. Sam lifted Dean's arm and put it around his neck.

"Hold on," he said, voice thick. Dean's fingers curled around the back of Sam's neck, eventually fisting in the collar of his shirt.

Sam wrapped his left arm underneath Dean's right one and used his hand to touch the chain, which disintegrated on contact. Dean's weight dropped onto him, his body tumbling forward at the sudden freedom. Sam stumbled back a step but was able to stay standing, even with Dean's body pressed against his.

"Dean," he said, quietly. "I need to get the other chains."

Dean nodded and tried to move backwards, using his hands to push off of Sam, but he only was able to separate himself a few inches before he fell back onto Sam. "I—" Dean's voice was rough, hoarse from screaming and crying. He cleared his throat, winced, and tried again. "Sorry," he said, voice so scratchy it hurt to listen to. "I can't…"

"No, no, don't worry about it," Sam said, gripping onto Dean even tighter. "I'm… I'm just going to lie you down for a minute, okay?" He gently bent down and tried to lay Dean down on the ground, but the minute his hand touched the ground on which Sam was standing, it went right through it. Sam immediately pulled Dean back up and against him. "Shit," he muttered. " _Shit._ "

"Sam," Dean said, quietly. "Sam, I…"

Sam moved Dean slightly so that he had a hand free. "Hold onto me, okay? Don't let go." Sam felt Dean's hands tighten around his neck, hands gripping at his hair and clothes. "No matter what."

The chains had followed Dean's body, still connected to him, and although some of them had disappeared on contact with Sam's body, there were still others that Sam had yet to touch. So Sam moved his hand in the air around Dean, cutting through and dissolving the chains until there were none left. As soon as the chains were all gone, Sam grabbed Dean under his thighs and hoisted Dean's legs up around his waist. "Wrap your feet around each other," Sam instructed. "Get as good a grip as you can."

"I knew you would come," Dean murmured. His mouth was pressed against Sam's ear, and his voice made Sam shiver. Sam could still feel Dean's arms around his neck, his legs around his body, the weight of Dean against him. The blood that stained Dean's body was smeared onto his clothes and face, and Dean's limbs were still shaking from being chained, but Sam didn't care. "I knew…"

"Shh…" Sam whispered, soothingly. "Of course I came. Of course."

Dean nodded against Sam's neck. Sam could feel his mouth moving, knew he was trying to say something, but nothing came out. Sam just walked forward, back the way he had come, and headed towards the doorframe. He knew where it was, and it seemed so much shorter getting there this time. Walking through Dean's hell was a lot less troubling when Sam was carrying him out of it.

Dean was quiet the entire time. He occasionally grunted or breathed a bit heavier, but he said nothing. Sam concentrated on getting the both of them out of there as fast as possible. Once they were through the doorframe, he kept on walking towards the exit, towards that odd feeling that let him know he was heading in the right direction. He didn't stop to see if Dean could touch this ground, he didn't stop to check Dean's injuries. He knew this was Dean's soul, and not his actual body, but he couldn't help but wonder what effects, if any, this would have on Dean's real body. Sam hoped no damages would appear on him, but there was no way of knowing for sure. At least, not until he had finally brought Dean back.

Sam began to walk faster, careful not to jostle Dean too much, but intent on making it out of hell quickly. He ignored the doorframes that appeared with his every step, didn't even bother looking in them this time, not even when a contract in his body reacted and he knew the soul he was passing was one he could potentially save. None of those people mattered, and there wasn't anything he could do for them. They had all made their choice. He had Dean to worry about, and that was more than enough.

The exit was right in front of him in a matter of minutes. However, every step that Sam took towards it, Dean seemed to feel lighter in his arms. Sam concentrated on making it to the exit, to that small tear in the expanse of darkness that surrounded them, but the worry he had for Dean's safety was a gnawing fear in his mind. Dean's form was becoming transparent. Not completely, but enough that Sam could see his own shirt through Dean's torso. He swallowed nervously and walked faster. Dean was a soul here—only a soul. He had no physical form. His soul was going to return to the contract, and from there Sam would have to return it to his body. He knew that, but still, watching Dean like this was like watching him die all over again.

Sam reached the exit just as Dean's body was at its lightest and most transparent. Dean seemed like a ghost now—and not the solid kind that they faced regularly, but rather the kind that appeared in the movies, all white and see-through and completely powerless. Sam tightened his hold around Dean just as he passed through the exit, and as he did so Dean evaporated into thin air, becoming a thin blue-gray wisp. A small black cord shot out of Sam's chest, towards the wisp, and they met up in mid-air, melding together with a small flash of white light. When the light faded, a piece of yellowed parchment hung suspended in front of Sam, and when he searched for Dean's contract inside of himself he came up empty.

Sam reached out and grabbed onto the contract, holding it tightly between his fingers. He looked it over briefly and knew it was Dean's, just like he had known it was Dean's when it was inside of him.

"You see?" The crossroads demon breathed heavily, pushing her hair away from her face. The portal to hell had closed, leaving not even a slight trace of its existence. "Like I said. His soul's in the contract now."

Sam nodded tightly. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

"Now, give me the other contracts. Renounce your claim on them, and they'll be mine." The demon sighed. "You could have been a little faster, you know."

"You said you'd annul his contract," Sam said. "That was part of the deal."

"And I will," she said. " _After_ you hand over the others."

Sam narrowed his eyes, but asked, "How do I give them to you?"

The demon shrugged. "Just renounce them. Say aloud that you renounce all of your rights to the contracts and that you are giving them to me."

"That's enough?"

"Of course," the demon said. "It's your word. What more can a crossroads demon ask for?"

Sam cleared his throat. "I renounce all of my rights to the contracts of the human souls who made deals with any demon. I'm giving up the contracts to this crossroads demon here. Standing in front of me. Now."

As soon as Sam finished, a tremor shook through his body. The black cords that had shot into him came out suddenly, as one, and flew through the crossroads demon, disappearing into her as they touched her. Once they were completely gone, she closed her eyes and stood still for a moment.

"All right," she said, nodding. "It's done."

"Annul Dean's contract now," Sam said, gesturing to the contract a bit frantically.

The demon rolled her eyes. "Yes, I know. Here, give it to me."

Sam handed the contract over, glaring at the demon the whole time. She took it from him and reached a hand into her pocket, taking out a pen. Then, she wrote on the bottom of the contract for a minute before elaborately signing her name across the bottom of it.

"Here, you need to sign in Dean's place." The demon handed the contract over to Sam. Sam quickly read what she had wrote, which amounted to stating the contract was null and void and that the terms of it were no longer applicable—also stating that the contract was currently like it had never existed. Sam signed on the empty line near the bottom. Then the demon took the contract back and kissed it. A black cord came out of the contract and dissolved as it did so, shattering into a thousand tiny pieces that evaporated into nothing. "There," she said. "It's done. Now all you need to do is destroy the contract."

Sam took the contract back from her. "And fire will do that, right?"

She nodded. "Yeah, it should. But make sure you burn the contract next to his body, otherwise his soul might not find its way back."

"All right," Sam said. "There's just one more thing I've been meaning to do."

"What?" the demon asked. "We're done here. The deal's finished."

"Not quite," Sam said. He took out the Colt and pointed it straight at the demon.

"What are you doing?" she asked, stepping backward.

"I'm a hunter," Sam said, shortly. "And I can't let you go around making deals with people, sending them to hell."

"I already told you, there's always going to be a replacement for this position." She spoke quickly, eyes darting around, obviously trying to find some safe escape route. Sam knew that she knew if she tried to leave the girl's body, he'd shoot. "Even if you kill me, they'll be someone else."

"Like I said," Sam said, slowly. "I can't let it happen. I'll keep on killing you evil sons of bitches wherever I find you."

"We had a deal," she hissed, sucking in a short breath. Her eyes flashed betrayal and resignation.

"I don't care," Sam said, stepping forward and pointing the gun directly over where her heart would be, if she had one. "Life's not always fair." He cocked the Colt and steadied his finger over the trigger.

"You lied," she wheezed. "You _lied_."

"Them's the breaks," he said, and pulled the trigger.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Once, when he had been about nine, he remembered seeing Dean talking with a girl. This girl wasn't anything particularly out of the ordinary, except that she kept on trying to hold Dean's hand. Sam had watched, not knowing why he was so irritated, as Dean constantly kept on pulling his hand away. Finally, Sam had stomped up to them, grabbed Dean's hand, and tugged on it, saying very clearly that they needed to go back home _right now_. The girl had laughed and waved goodbye, which absolutely infuriated Sam.

As they walked away, Dean had wrapped his hands around Sam's and smiled down at him. Dean had asked him about his day, and Sam had launched into an explanation of his science project without a second thought.

It was only later that he would remember he hadn't seen Dean with that girl ever again, and he had never seen Dean holding anyone else's hand. Ever. Sam remembered that every time he reached for Dean's hand and Dean held on, gripping his fingers tightly.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Later that night, Sam broke into the county morgue where he had stored Dean's body. It was the only place he had been able to think of where a body could be kept for a long period of time without any damage to it, and without anyone thinking anything was suspicious about it.

When Sam had first hidden his body here, in an empty spot, he had been worried someone would notice. But some fake paperwork placed in the right files had cleared that up. Sam had been able to do what needed to be done without worrying that Dean's body would be buried or mutilated. He had needed a clear head for his plan to work. He had needed the demon to believe that he was going to let her go. He had never planned on letting her live, of course. She was dead from the minute they had first met. But keeping that fact from her had been essential to getting Dean back. He didn't care about playing fair—after all, demons never cared about playing fair, so why should he? And he definitely didn't care about where all of those contracts had gone. The black cords had erupted from her body and shot off towards some unknown destination, presumably the next in line for her job. Not that it mattered. As long as he had Dean back, he didn't care what happened to those souls at all. They had made the decision to make their own deals. Now they had to live with the consequences.

Sam opened the drawer that held Dean's body, feeling the refrigeration sweep over him. He pulled out the slab that Dean was resting on, with only a simple white sheet covering his body. Sam pulled the sheet down, uncovering Dean's face and shoulders, and was relieved to see that his body was fine. There were no autopsy marks on the body, most likely thanks to the note Sam had written on his file saying that the autopsy had to be performed with a member of the FBI present who would be arriving as soon as there was an opening in his schedule. Sam ran a hand over Dean's face, flinching when he encountered cold, dead skin. He closed his eyes and shook his head. Dean would be alive again soon enough.

Sam grabbed the contract out of his duffel bag, which also held clothes and food for Dean, along with the usual fake identification and weapons. He dropped the duffel on the floor and reached into his pocket, taking out a lighter. Sam held the contract over Dean's body, swallowed thickly, and then flicked on the lighter, bringing the flame to the corner of the parchment. The flame caught immediately to the thin paper, slowly spreading through the document, leaving crumbling ash in its' wake. Sam watched as the parchment burned, all the way until all that was left was a bit more than he was holding onto. Then he let the parchment go and watched carefully as it burned up completely before it hit the ground. As soon as the corner was finished burning, the ashes coalesced together into a blue-gray wisp of smoke. That wisp was drawn into Dean's body, going in through his mouth and nose until it was completely inside of him.

Sam waited a few seconds, nervously. Would it work? If this didn't work, he had no other ideas. This was the only way he had found, so it had to work.

Dean's body convulsed on the slab. All at once, his eyes shot open as he sucked in a deep breath, his shoulders rose up off the slab a few inches, and his hands clenched into fists. Sam was at his side in an instant, hands on his shoulders, holding onto him as if he wouldn't ever let go.

"It's all right, it's all right, I've got you," Sam said, loudly, trying to make them both believe it.

Dean's breathing hitched and then he blinked—once, twice. "Sa-Sam?" he asked, and his voice was so out of use that it barely came out at all.

Sam nodded. "I'm here, Dean. I'm right here." He helped Dean sit up, the cloth falling to reveal the rest of his torso. "How are you feeling? Are you all right?"

"I remember," Dean said, softly. He cleared his throat and swallowed. "I remember everything."

"It's okay, it's all right," Sam said, slower now that Dean had calmed down. "You're here now, that's what matters."

Dean looked up, at Sam's face, just a few inches away. He opened his mouth, closed it, and licked his lips. And then, before either of them had time to think about it, Sam's mouth was on Dean's—tongues pushing against each other, lips gaping open, teeth scraping and bumping. Their hands groped at each other—Dean's clenching into Sam's shirt, Sam's wrapping around Dean's neck and back. They panted as their mouths moved, struggling to breathe, not thinking clearly, not thinking at all. The kiss was desperate, feral—it meant everything to them. It was I missed you, I needed you, I was worried, I can't live without you, why weren't you here?

Sam could feel Dean against him, so different from when they had been in hell. This time, Dean was strong, powerful—his shoulders and arms moved as he kissed, his tongue fought with Sam's for dominance. He was warm, and he was alive. He was _alive_. His body felt as if there hadn't been any break in his life at all. Sam moved forward, pressing himself against Dean, finally allowing himself to think what he had been avoiding for years, since before Stanford even.

Just as soon as he did so, though, Dean broke the kiss off and leaned backwards, away from him. Sam opened his eyes, looking directly at Dean's, immediately noticing the confusion there. He swallowed and backed away, giving Dean some space.

There had never really been awkward silences between them before. It had always been companionable, with each of them knowing the other was there. That had been enough; they hadn't always needed to make conversation. The silences had been simple, comfortable, like knowing you were home and being able to just bask in that feeling.

This silence, though, this was awkward. Unbearably so. Sam had never felt this way around Dean before. He shifted uneasily from foot to foot and then held his hands behind his back. He tightened his hands around each other and looked down, away, at the floor and then at the ceiling and then at the far wall.

What could he say? He had to think of something to say. There had to be something! He had finally brought Dean back, they were finally together again, and now Sam had to go and ruin it thanks to his own stupid crush that he knew—that he _knew_ —would never be returned.

Maybe he could pass it off as a joke? As some kind of momentary insanity? He could say that he was just so happy that Dean was back that he hadn't been thinking straight. But would Dean see through that? People who were deliriously happy didn't usually kiss other people, especially their siblings, right?

"Hey," Dean said, breaking the silence after it had stretched on for far too long. Sam looked up, not sure what he expected to see, only to find Dean with a soft smile on his face. "Come on, we'd better get out of here."

Sam nodded, not sure how to take Dean's reaction. "All right," he said. Dean moved to get up, but Sam stopped him with a quick shout. "Ah! No, uh, here!" He reached down for his duffel, unzipped it, and grabbed out Dean's clothes. "You should get dressed." He knew he was blushing, and he couldn't meet Dean's eyes as his older brother grabbed the clothes from his hands.

"Hey, thanks," Dean muttered. "Knew you went to college for something."

Sam's head jerked up, and he opened his mouth to make some witty retort, when he saw Dean's naked back in front of him. The long line of Dean that started from his neck, went down his back, over his ass, down his legs, and ended at his feet was too much for Sam to take. He had seen Dean naked before—they did go everywhere together, after all. But now, after kissing him, after Dean moving away and not talking about it, Sam didn't know how to control his reaction.

Sam turned around quickly, re-zipping the duffel bag in the process. "Hurry up," he said. "We should get moving."

If Dean noticed anything odd about Sam's voice, he didn't mention it. 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

It was only later, after, when he was cleaning out the Colt, that he remembered what everyone had been telling him for years.

Demons were liars.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

It meant nothing. Dean had gone along with Sam kissing him because he had been woozy after being brought back to life. That had to have been it. There was no other explanation for why Dean would have kissed him back.

Neither one of them had brought it up. Sam hadn't seen any point to it, and Dean never talked about anything important if he could avoid it. Sam had thought Dean would be different, after he got back, that being in hell would have changed him somehow.

Dean had changed a little. He was quieter, for starters. He didn't sing along to all of the songs that he used to, and he hardly ever flirted with any of the girls that hit on him. He was still enthusiastic about looking for hunts, though, and he seemed almost ecstatic when they found their first one, only a week after Dean had returned. Sam had wanted to take some time off, for Dean to recover, but Dean insisted that he was fine. Since Sam didn't notice any difference in his brother's physical capabilities—Dean was able to walk, talk, run, drive, eat, and shoot just like normal—he really couldn't refuse the hunt.

It was during the hunt that things went wrong. It was just a ghost, not even a poltergeist. It had been haunting an abandoned shack for a long time, and finally someone had died there, which was enough to put it on Sam and Dean's radar. So when it finally appeared in front of them, Sam was all ready to salt and burn the bones that were lying in the next room of the shack. He moved forward to do just that, but Dean moved first, cutting Sam off and standing right in front of the ghost. The ghost's face twisted, obviously getting ready to attack, and Sam shouted, but Dean ignored him. Dean unloaded round after round of rock salt shells into the ghost, continuing to fire even after it had vanished. Sam shouted again, trying to get past Dean, but Dean turned around too quickly, re-loading the shotgun and firing again. But this time there was no target, he was firing at random, at a moving curtain, at a rickety table, at the reflection of moonlight against the glass window.

"Dean!" Sam yelled, moving forward to grab onto Dean's arm. "Dean, _stop_! What are you _doing_?!"

But Dean just kept firing until he had gone through all of the shells he had on him, and then he lunged towards Sam. Sam jerked backwards, but Dean grabbed the salt and lighter fluid off of him anyway. Dean ran to the next room, upending the entire container of salt over the bones and then squeezing the lighter fluid until that container was empty as well. Then, he flicked his lighter onto it, watching as it immediately burst into flames.

Sam's eyes widened. Dean had used too much lighter fluid—he had poured some onto the wooden floor, and the shack was going to go up any second. He grabbed Dean's arm and tugged him away from the fire, pulling him even as he felt the heat pressing against his face. Sam looked back at Dean, to make sure he was all right, and saw a smile plastered across his face—too wide and shining in the light from the fire. Sam shivered and forced Dean to follow him, pulled Dean out of the fire and onto the safe grass outside of the building.

"Dean," Sam said, voice shaking. "Dean, what's wrong?"

Dean looked over at Sam, smile vanishing in an instant as he moved towards his younger brother. Sam jerked upright as Dean's hands moved over him, patting his shoulders and face and chest.

"You all right?" Dean asked, voice hoarse. "Sammy, are you okay?"

Sam nodded, pushing Dean's hands off of him. "Yeah, I'm fine, Dean."

Dean nodded and swallowed. "Good. That's… that's good."

Sam heard a noise, a shattering, and looked past Dean just in time to see the glass windows exploding outwards, heading right for them. Sam immediately took control of the pieces of glass, forcing them to hang in mid-air, still and harmless. After a few seconds, he dropped all of them to the ground, letting them stay wherever they fell. He looked back to the shack, watching as the flames crept up the building, and decided it was time to move on.

He turned around to tell Dean that they should leave, but Dean was standing there staring at him. Sam immediately realized that he had not told Dean that he had been practicing his powers. Dean didn't know that he was better at using them, that he had to get better thanks to having to defeat Lilith. In fact, Dean didn't know anything at all that had gone on while he had been away.

"Dean, we have to go," Sam said, reaching out to him. Dean allowed his arm to be taken hold of, but he kept on staring at Sam.

"Sam, you—" Dean cut himself off. "What did you do?"

"We have to go," Sam repeated, getting louder.

"What did you _do_?" Dean said, voice rising as well.

Sam grit his teeth and pulled Dean away from the fire, towards the Impala. "We'll talk about it later," he said.

"Damn right we will," Dean muttered, but he grabbed his arm away from Sam and walked ahead of him, grabbing the keys out of his pocket. They got into the Impala a minute later, and Dean drove off towards the motel.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

"So," Dean started. "You went all Matrix on me while I was gone?"

"It wasn't like that," Sam protested. He was sitting on the bed nearest the window in their motel room, facing Dean. Dean was sitting on the opposite bed, facing him. Their knees almost touched in this position, but Dean didn't seem to care and Sam certainly wasn't going to bring it up. The motel room was a bit better than the ones they normally stayed in. The sheets were cleaner and they offered more than just HBO and porn on the television. Any other night, Sam figured they probably would have lounged around on their beds and watched pointless, mind-numbing shows for hours. Tonight, though, they had a lot to talk about.

"Oh, really?" Dean asked. He narrowed his gaze in Sam's direction. "Because it sure looked to me like you stopped that glass with your mind."

"Well, what did you expect, Dean?" Sam asked, hissing to keep his voice low. "Did you want me to just let it hit you?"

"No, but you shouldn't have been able to stop it in the first place," Dean muttered. "I told you not to use your powers, didn't I?"

"What was I supposed to do, Dean?" Sam leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He folded his hands between his legs and looked at Dean's leg. "I needed to get you back, didn't I? And how else was I supposed to do it?"

Dean closed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. "Don't get me wrong," he said, then paused. "I'm glad you saved me. Really," he added, quickly. "It was…" Dean waved a hand in the air. "Anyway, you shouldn't have used your powers. There had to be another way."

"There wasn't, Dean," Sam said. "I looked, okay? I looked, and there was nothing else. I had to make the deal, to—"

"Whoa, whoa, what?" Dean interrupted, holding out a hand to stop Sam. "You made a _deal_?" Dean's eyes widened. "Sammy, you didn't."

Sam sighed. "It's not like that, Dean." He launched into an explanation of what had happened while Dean was gone—starting with going to Bobby's and ending with resurrecting Dean. Sam had a moment where he thought he should leave something out, either him training to use his powers or him not having a soul to barter with, but in the end he told Dean everything. That sort of information always came out sooner or later, and always at the absolute worst times. Sam figured it was better to let Dean know everything now, than to have it come up in the middle of a hunt or while they were exorcising some demon.

Dean was quiet for the entire explanation, not even offering any facial expressions to give away his thoughts. Sam was worried about his lack of reaction at first, but then it became easier to tell the story when he knew Dean wasn't going to be shouting at him for anything. After he was finished, he looked up at Dean and waited for a reaction.

"So," Dean said, slowly, after a minute of silence had passed. "We find a way to get you your soul back. Shouldn't be too hard. There's got to be something."

"Dean… I don't think there is," Sam said, also speaking slowly. "The way she described it, it was like there wasn't an option."

"Well, of course she's gonna say it like that!" Dean exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air. "She's a demon, Sam. They lie. They don't say what they mean. They do bad things to get what they want."

"I know all that," Sam said, glaring at Dean.

"Well, then why would you believe her? There's another way," Dean said, muttering to himself now. "There has to be."

"If there is, great. Let's do it," Sam said, shortly. "But we've got another problem to deal with."

"Oh, great," Dean said. "What?"

"You," Sam replied. Before Dean could speak, Sam continued, "You've been acting sort of funny since you got back. Not how you usually do. And today, you were totally out of control during the hunt."

"I was not," Dean said, frowning.

"Yeah, you were," Sam stated. "And I need to know what's up with you."

"What's up with me?" Dean repeated, incredulously. "What's _up_ with me?"

"Dean—"

"What's up with me is that I just got back from hell, Sam."

Sam's face softened. "Dean, I—"

"From _hell_ ," Dean emphasized. His lips tightened into a thin line. "Do you even know what it's like?" He paused, and then asked, "Well? Do you?"

Sam shook his head. "No," he said, quietly.

"That's right. You don't." Dean swallowed and shook his head. "So don't think you can figure out what I should or shouldn't be like, okay? Because I'm fine, I'm dealing with it, and if you think I'm not, well, hey, that's your problem."

"Dean," Sam said, softly. "I just want to help you."

"Yeah, I bet," Dean muttered.

Sam flinched backwards and drew his legs up on the bed, sitting cross-legged on the edge. "I…" He trailed off, unsure what to make of that comment.

Dean closed his eyes and breathed slowly. "Sorry," he said, quickly. "I just… I need to get used to being back here. With you."

"Oh," Sam said, as if he understood.

Dean took another breath, and his shoulders relaxed. He seemed to calm down a bit before he spoke again. "Sam, you don't get it. Hell was… bad. Okay? It was real bad."

Sam nodded, but remained quiet. He didn't know what to say to help Dean get through this, and he had a feeling that anything he did say would only shut Dean up or get him angry.

"At first, all I did was shout for you," Dean continued. "I mean, that's _all_ I did. For so long, I don't even know how long it was. But then, after a while, I started to…" Dean trailed off. "I started to forget."

"Forget?" Sam asked, but Dean didn't seem to hear him.

"Little things, at first," Dean said. "Like the first letter of my license plate or the names on my fake I.D.s." He rotated his shoulders and leaned forward, putting his head in his hands and his elbows on his knees. Sam wanted to reach out and touch him, comfort him somehow, but he didn't. "But then, as time went on, it started getting worse. I forgot the lyrics to songs, and how to load a shotgun." He paused for a few seconds. "But then one day I realized…" Dean looked up and into Sam's eyes. "Your eyes," he said, quietly. "I had forgotten the color of them."

"Dean," Sam whispered. He clenched his hands into fists at his sides.

"They're brown," Dean whispered. "I remembered as soon as I woke up, you know. As soon as I saw your face." Dean was silent for a minute before he looked down at his feet. "I couldn't stay there anymore. As soon as I forgot, I knew I had to get out." He paused again and took another breath, shallower this time, to calm himself down again. "That's what Ruby told me," Dean said, swallowing thickly. "That's what hell is, Sam. Forgetting."

Sam stared at him, uncomprehending.

"That's what demons are. They're people," Dean said, speaking faster as he went on. "They were all people, like you and me, but they made deals and went to hell and then they forgot about their lives and everyone they cared about, and now they're just…" Dean trailed off, shrugging.

Sam understood anyway.

"So I couldn't forget you. You know? I just couldn't," Dean said, nodding once, decisively. "So thanks. For getting me out."

Sam swallowed and looked at Dean's bowed head. "You're welcome," he said, quietly. "Anytime."

There was a silence between them after that. It was comfortable this time, though. This was the kind of atmosphere they both were used to, and both of them were glad to see it return. Dean turned on the television to some channel and they both laid down on their separate beds, facing the screen and watching whatever was on. Sam wasn't paying attention to the program. He was focused on Dean laying down next to him, on the bed alongside his, who was smiling and occasionally chuckled at the antics on the sitcom.

He could do this, Sam thought. He could be with Dean like this and it didn't have to be awkward or unsure. If he could just get his emotions in check and keep them there, they could go back to how things used to be. And wasn't that what he wanted? For everything to go back to how it had been before the deals had been made? As long as Dean didn't bring up the kiss, Sam knew they had a good chance of returning to their old ways.

Which was exactly what he wanted.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Sam never got what he wanted. It was later that night, after Dean had turned off the television and declared it was time for all naughty boys to be in bed, that he was lying awake, staring out of the window. The moonlight illuminated the room in odd ways, giving Dean's face a two-toned look that didn't really suit him at all. Dean wasn't a black and white sort of guy—he lived in shades of gray.

"Sam?" Dean asked, quietly.

Sam debated not answering, but he knew Dean would figure it out and bother him even more. "Mm?"

"You awake?"

"No."

"Shut up," Dean hissed. Sam felt a pillow hit his head. He grabbed it and tucked it underneath his other one, enjoying the extra comfort. "Give that back."

"No," Sam stated. "You threw it over here. Too bad for you."

Dean was silent, which was strange since Sam had expected him to continue their banter. But then again, Sam knew Dean hadn't started up a conversation with him in the middle of the night for no reason. He figured Dean was building up to whatever it was he wanted to talk about.

"Hey, Sam," Dean said. "I want to ask you something, but I don't want you to get pissed, okay?"

Sam's gut clenched. Dean was _never_ this tactful. It had to be something horrible. "Uh, I'll try not to."

Another long pause, and then Dean exhaled loudly. "About that kiss…" Sam's whole body tensed up. He waited for Dean to finish his sentence, wondering what he would say. "You didn't mean it, right?" Sam's stomach dropped. "I mean, it was just a joke, or because you were excited, or not thinking strai—uh, clearly, right?"

Sam waited for too long before answering, he knew, but he needed the time to think. What should he say? Should he lie? Should he just agree with Dean and write it off as a momentary lapse in judgment? He was about to just agree with Dean and laugh it off, but then he remembered his decision to tell Dean the truth about what had happened while he had been away. He had specifically chosen not to lie because he knew that the truth would come out eventually.

But that had been a different situation. Those had been important pieces of information that could have a major effect on the both of them. This was just a stupid, childish thing that had haunted him for most of his life, staying with him for much longer than it should have. In all honesty, Sam didn't think his feelings for Dean were either childish or stupid. But that was the whole problem. The fact that he could take his feelings for Dean seriously was proof of just how twisted he was. Dean would never, _could_ never like him back. It was wrong in so many ways, and he just needed to get over it.

"I just need to get over it," Sam said, mostly to himself. "It'll be fine." Dean was silent. Sam cleared his throat and said, "It's nothing, Dean. Go back to sleep."

There was silence for long enough that Sam thought Dean just might have fallen back asleep, but then Dean sat up suddenly in bed and stared over at Sam. "You never say what you mean," Dean hissed, gesturing in the air.

Sam's eyebrows furrowed. "Yes, I do."

"No, dude. You don't." Dean shook his head and sighed. "You're always circling around whatever it is you want to say."

"No," Sam said. He leaned up on one elbow and looked over at Dean. "When did I do that? I always tell you everything up front."

Dean stared at Sam hard for a long minute. Then he laid back down and said, "You know what? Forget I said anything."

Sam's eyes hardened. "What do you want to know, Dean?"

"The stupid, freaking kiss, Sam," Dean said, turning his head to look at Sam. "Did you mean it, or not?"

"You kissed me back," Sam said, softly.

" _Dude_ ," Dean said, fervently. "I had just gotten back. I was all sorts of messed up. You can't hold that against me." He pointed at Sam with a finger that seemed to scream all sorts of accusations at him. "And anyway, stop trying to change the subject. Did you mean it or not?"

"Dean—"

"It's a yes or no question, Sammy," Dean interrupted. "Just tell me, okay? I need to know."

"Why? Why do you need to know?" Sam asked.

"Because it's important," Dean said, shortly.

"Yes," Sam said, loudly. His voice echoed a bit in the motel room and both of their bodies stilled. Sam swallowed and went on. "Is that what you wanted to hear? That I meant it?"

"I…" Dean trailed off, voice fading away without finishing his thought.

"I meant it, okay?" Sam closed his eyes and then laid back down on his bed. He looked up at the ceiling, carefully avoiding Dean. "I meant it."

"Sam…"

Sam waited for Dean to finish, but when he didn't, Sam said, "Are we done now? Can I get some sleep?"

"Sam, I…" Dean swallowed thickly. Sam could hear him shifting in his bed but didn't look over. He was going to stare at the ceiling for as long as he possibly could. "I don't know what to say."

"Oh, your little brother confesses his love to you and you don't know what to say? There's a shocker," Sam said, scathingly.

"Love?" Dean asked, voice thin and high.

Sam closed his eyes and decided that dying right then wouldn't be so bad, actually. Or maybe just erasing Dean's memory of this whole conversation—that could work, too. "Just forget it," Sam said, quietly. "Please, _please_ let's just forget it and go back to sleep, all right?"

"Sam, I'm really…" Dean stopped and breathed so loudly Sam could hear it clearly. "I'm sorry, but I don't…"

Sam's eyes snapped open as they teared up, and he blinked quickly, swallowing. There was no reason to get this upset. He had known this was coming, after all. There was no way Dean would like him back. No way.

"It's all right," Sam said, voice way too thick. Sam knew Dean could tell he was crying, but he hoped Dean would pretend not to notice anyway. "I mean, I figured."

"I mean, you're my brother. I just never thought… and anyway, I've never been with a guy before. I like chicks, you know?" Dean continued, voice rising and slightly too high-pitched.

"Yeah, I know," Sam said. "You don't flirt as much as you used to, though. But still…"

"So what, you want me to hook up with some random chick every night?" Dean asked, voice rough. Sam remained silent and tried to stop crying. He hoped Dean couldn't hear his throat or his nose working—there really was no mistaking the sounds of someone crying, after all. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have…"

"It's all right, I don't care," Sam said. But his voice cracked and he knew it sounded like he cared too much, so he added, "Really." Even that sounded like a lie, and he decided to just keep quiet for now, at least until he got his voice back under his control.

"When I was down there," Dean said, speaking so quietly Sam had to strain himself to hear, "there was a lot of time to think. I mean, I wanted to try to forget about what was happening to me, around me, you know, so I thought a lot. About my life, about what matters to me." Dean paused to exhale loudly. "Our whole lives, it's just been us, you know? Even when dad was around, it was still just me and you. He was always on hunts, remember? And we were stuck together. And then it just got to be where I expected you to be there, right next to me, and now I can't even think straight if I don't know where you are. I need you by me, Sam. I need you with me… but not in that way."

"Dean, it's okay, I get it." Sam's voice still sounded rough, hoarse from crying, but he hoped Dean would get the point and stop talking. He didn't need a litany of reasons why Dean didn't want him. He got it just fine without Dean explaining it to him.

"It's not okay," Dean said, voice rising a bit. "I don't want to mess this up, Sam. Me and you, I mean. I want to be with you, I want to go on hunts with you and to be able to talk with you and have you there, next to me, always, all the time." Dean cleared his throat and Sam blinked up at the ceiling, tasting salt on his lips. "I love you," he said, and his voice was so quiet Sam barely heard it. "I love you more than anyone else in the world."

"I love you, too," Sam said, voice rough. It was hard to talk past the lump in his throat, but he got it out anyway. It was important, after all.

"But not in that way," Dean said, gently. "If… I mean, if you're okay with that, I'd like us to still be together."

"I want that too," Sam said, softly. He sucked in a deep breath and tried to calm down. There was no use crying over this. He had known things would turn out this way. It had only been a matter of time, really.

There was silence for a few minutes, during which time Sam was able to stop crying and slow down his breathing. He thought he might finally be able to get back to sleep and forget this whole horrible night had ever happened, but then Dean said, "Don't worry, Sammy. You'll get over it."

The words cut through Sam like a knife could never do. As if he hadn't tried. As if that was even possible. As if he hadn't spent years of his life cursing his deluded emotions and twisted upbringing that had led him to this situation. Dean didn't understand, he realized. Even after he had tried explaining, Dean still didn't understand.

"Yeah," Sam said because saying anything else would start up the same conversation, and he just couldn't go through that again.

"Night," Dean said. He turned over and faced the opposite wall, leaving his back to Sam.

Sam stared at it for a second before looking back up at the ceiling. Then, he turned over to face the window. "Night," he replied, quietly.

He had been wrong, Sam thought idly. It seemed like there were some things that Dean could be black and white about.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

They began looking for clues about how to save Sam's soul as they discovered more hunts. Hunting became as easy as it had been. Dean slowly became more like his old self. As the weeks passed, he went back to just being reckless and not outright violent and suicidal. He also went back to singing along in the car with all the songs he knew—especially with the ones Sam didn't like. What he didn't do, though, was flirt with any girls.

Sam didn't know what to make of that. At first, he thought Dean was just being thoughtful, trying not to give Sam any more heartache than he already had. But after the first three weeks, when it had been a whole month since Dean had been back, Sam was getting suspicious. He knew Dean liked having sex, and he was on edge waiting for the night when Dean would take off with some girl. Sam wished Dean would just go ahead and do it already, just so Sam could stop thinking about it. The waiting was worse. It made Sam think he had a chance, that maybe Dean had changed his mind since they had spoken.

Of course, that was ridiculous. There was no way Dean would ever want to be with him. Even if Dean did go for guys, or just wanted to experiment, he still wouldn't go for his own brother. There were tons of guys out there who would do Dean in a second. Sam had seen some of them, and he was sure a few must have hit on Dean at one point or another. There was no reason for someone like Dean, who could get basically anyone he wanted, to go after his younger brother. It was twisted, and wrong, and just because Sam couldn't stop thinking about it didn't mean Dean even gave it a moment's thought.

But then, a few days after Sam had started really wondering what Dean was playing at, Dean asked him, "So, uh, you still hot for me, Sammy?"

Sam was immediately grateful that Dean was the one driving, because if it had been him he might have crashed the car, and then Dean would have killed him in revenge. As it was, Sam turned bright red and sputtered for a minute. Eventually, he got out, " _No_. Shut up. Asshole."

Dean grinned. Dammit, he was enjoying mocking Sam. "You're lying. You are, aren't you?"

Sam put his head in his hands and muttered through his fingers, "Can we please talk about something else?"

Dean sighed. "I'd really like to know, Sam." He waited a beat, and then asked, "Are you?"

" _Yes_ ," Sam grit out, tightly. "Can you shut up now? Please?"

Dean nodded. "Shutting up."

They continued on with their current hunt, and Dean didn't bring it up again, but Sam couldn't help but wonder. Why had he even asked?

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Sometimes Dean would ask about it. After that first time, Dean asked more seriously, and it came up a bit more often. Not often enough that Sam was expecting it, but often enough that Sam had grown accustomed to answering quickly and honestly. They'd be talking about something else, something completely unrelated. Like that night's HBO movie, or the last diner they had stopped at, or making a new fake I.D. And then, without warning, Dean would continue the conversation as if there hadn't been a break at all. Sometimes days would pass in between questions. Sometimes it would be a week or two or even longer. But eventually he would insert into their conversation a line that had Sam pause. He would ask "How long have you…?" or "Are you sure?" or "Do you still?" Sam would answer honestly, every time, no matter the question. "Years." "Of course." "Yes."

But Dean never asked the one question Sam was waiting for, the one that would stump him. "How?" How did he fall for his brother? What instance, what glance or phrase or touch altered his thoughts in such a drastic way? But Sam would only have been able to answer honestly. He didn't know. His thoughts were jumbled, mixed up, confused. It was millions of looks, thousands of phrases, hundreds of touches. There wasn't one instance—there had to have been a single moment. It was everything combined together—it was something he couldn't explain.

Dean still didn't go out with girls, even with the ones who threw themselves at him. Sam still wondered what that meant, and if there was a possibility it could mean anything more than that Dean was just holding onto his relationship with Sam. The conversation they had was fresh in Sam's mind, even months afterwards. Dean wanted to hold onto what was precious to him, especially now that he had lived without it for so long. Apparently, what was precious to him was his relationship with Sam, and he was going to work towards making it last, no matter the cost or consequence.

Sam was thankful—grateful, even. He knew things could have gone a whole other way after his confession. Dean could have forsaken him. They could have parted on bad terms, only meeting up occasionally when their work required it. They might never have seen each other again. Still being able to live with Dean at his side was what Sam wanted. Even if it wasn't everything, it was enough. It was more than he had expected to have.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Then, exactly six months after Sam had began using his powers, he started losing control of them. He had stopped practicing with them after Dean had returned, had generally stopped using them. Occasionally they came in handy, like when they had accidentally salted and burned the wrong set of bones, causing the ghost to just get angrier and Sam had levitated the correct bones up through the ground, salting and burning them as soon as they got there. And there had been that time with a demon who was possessing a ridiculously strong man—the guy had been a weightlifter, and it certainly showed. It had been impossible to knock him unconscious or otherwise trick him into going into the trap they had made for him, so Sam had held him down with his mind while Dean had performed the exorcism. But, overall, no matter how useful Sam's powers were, Dean got all quiet and antsy every time Sam used them. It wasn't worth the sidelong glances and staring that he got for his efforts, so Sam just stopped using his powers.

Stopping using his powers had been hard, at first. After using them fairly regularly, at least two or three times a week, stopping completely felt like he was going through withdrawal. He would get headaches that turned into migraines that lasted a few hours, and he had trouble doing anything properly during those times. Also, he felt this itching need to use his powers. It was like there was a voice in the back of his mind that was urging him to use them. Not that there actually was a voice, but Sam often felt that something inside himself was constantly waiting for a chance to be unleashed.

Also, and this was the worst part, the part he hated to admit, even to himself… he had kind of liked using his powers. They made things easier, and they were fun to use. He felt free and happy when he was using them, not restricted and restless like he felt all the time now. Also, making decisions was easier when he had been using them. He somehow felt more torn now that he had stopped using his powers. It was almost like he had seen everything so clearly before. There had been an obvious, clear answer to every choice. But now, all Sam could see were various possibilities, none of which stood out as any better than the others. He remembered feeling so sure that he was right, so certain that what he was doing was the right thing. He wondered where all of that certainty had gone to.

This day in particular did not stand out in any way at all. They weren't on a hunt, they weren't fighting or pranking each other, and Sam hadn't even been having a migraine. In fact, Sam was lying on his bed relaxing while Dean went out for some food when it happened. With no warning at all, the lamp started rising into the air from the table next to Sam's head. Sam looked over, surprised, and tried to get it to go back down. But it just stayed there, stuck in mid-air, hovering a foot above the table.

"O-kay," Sam said, slowly. Then he heard a creaking sound, and he looked over to see the table and two chairs on the opposite side of the room were all beginning to rise. His eyes widened, and he tried to think about everything going back to how it was, but it was no use.

By the time Dean returned, everything in the room, including the beds and Sam himself, were levitating at least two feet off the ground.

"Sam!" Dean shouted, kicking the door closed behind him. He began rising into the air, clutching onto the McDonald's bag and drinks with resolve. "What the hell are you doing?!"

"Nothing!" Sam shouted, voice high and frantic.

"Oh, right—"

"I'm serious!" Sam yelled. "I can't control it!"

Dean's eyes widened and he looked around the room. "Well, try to put everything down!"

"I _am_ trying," he said, panicky. "It's not working!"

"All right, all right," Dean said. "Calm down, we'll think of something."

But an hour later, they still hadn't thought of anything. Sam thought it was lucky, sort of, that everything suddenly fell back down to where it belonged. Sure, the room was a disaster, and yeah, the food was spilled everywhere, but at least it had stopped.

"That could have gone better," Dean stated abruptly. He picked up a burger off the floor and offered it to Sam.

Sam reached out and grabbed it. He took a bite and surveyed the carnage critically. "Looks like we need to figure this out sooner rather than later."

Dean bit into his own burger. "Looks like."

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

The only thing they could think of doing was the one thing Dean absolutely did not want Sam to do. But after several days of arguing and two more unfortunate incidents, Sam finally put his foot down and declared he was going to a crossroads, with or without Dean.

They arrived later that day at a simple crossroads of two dirt roads. Sam had the box already prepared, thanks to his several earlier dealings with the earlier crossroads demon, and he dug a small hole in the center of the crossroads as Dean complained.

"You're the one who said this was the only way," Sam reminded him, putting the box into the bottom of the hole and re-filling it with dirt.

"Yeah, well, I didn't think you'd actually do it," Dean replied.

Sam rolled his eyes and patted the dirt down with his foot. "Just stay back, would you? Let me handle this."

"Like hell I will," Dean said, frowning. Sam shot him a glare and Dean backed up a few steps, waiting by the edge of the road. "I'll be right here if you need me."

"I can see you've got him well trained."

Sam turned at the voice, noticing immediately this was a man in his late twenties to early thirties. He was also attractive, Sam assumed these demons had a thing for possessing attractive people, but he seemed more laid back than the other two crossroads demons Sam had met. He was dressed in slacks and a white button-down shirt, and he slouched as he walked two steps towards Sam. He stopped about ten feet away from Sam, and Sam appreciated both the distance and the demon's caution.

"I need to make a deal," Sam said, loudly and clearly.

The demon snorted. "Yeah, and I'm an archangel. See ya later, pal."

"Wait," Sam said as the demon's head tilted towards the sky. "I want to exchange my powers for my soul."

The demon's head dropped back down to face Sam. He looked for a minute as if he was still going to leave, but then muttered, "Damn it." He crossed his arms over his chest and said, "So what, you'll give up your powers to get back your soul? Is that it?"

"Yeah," Sam said. "That's it. You can have my powers. Or do whatever you want with them, I don't care. I just don't want them anymore."

"Are you sure?" the demon asked, narrowing his eyes. "You're first on the list, you know. You could have power whenever you wanted it. If you wanted to take over for Lilith, you could do it. I mean, instantly, do it."

Sam walked forward and reached out, grabbing the demon's collar. "I'm only telling you this once," Sam said into the face of the now-shaking demon. "I don't want Lilith's position. You can have it. I'm never going to want it, and I'm never going to take it. But if you, or any other demon, comes after me or my brother again, I am going to kill you. Do you understand me?"

The demon jerked away from Sam's grasp. Sam let him go. "So what, you're just going to let me go? You're just going to let me take your powers? Take over your position?"

"It's not my position," Sam said. "I don't want anything to do with you demons anymore. I'll hunt you down when I need to, when it comes up in my job, and I'll kill anything that attacks my brother or me or stands in our way. But I'm not one of you. I don't need these powers to do my job. I never asked for them, and now they're causing more trouble than they're worth. And anyway…" Sam trailed off. "I'm not going to become like you. I can get by on my own."

"Not going to become like me?" the demon repeated. He laughed. "Sam, you already _are_ like me. You just don't know it yet."

Sam shook his head. "No," he said. "No, you're wrong."

"I'm right," he replied, slowly. "I'm right and you know it. That's why you want to get rid of your powers so much, isn't it? So that you won't become ‘like me.' Well, I've got some news for you," he said in a condescending tone of voice. "You're more like a demon than you think. You have been all along, for your whole life. You're only just now starting to realize it." The demon shrugged. "Giving up your powers won't change your personality, you know. It won't change who you are."

Sam's face was hard. His eyes were clear and looked directly into the demon's. "No," he said, loudly. "I'm not like you. Maybe I might have been, if Dean was still gone. Maybe I might be again, if Dean leaves." Sam paused to take a quick breath and glared at the demon. "But with Dean here, I'm fine. As long as we're together, I'll be all right."

"‘Together', huh?" The demon snorted. "You know, even if you get your soul back, there's no guarantee you won't end up in hell anyway. There are some things you can do," and here the demon's eyes darted to Dean, deliberately staying there for a few moments, "that are guaranteed sins. Once you do them, there's no way into heaven. You get that, don't you?"

"Yeah, I get that," Sam said, shortly. "But this isn't one of them."

"You sure?" the demon asked.

"Yeah." Sam looked over at Dean and couldn't help the small smile that lit up his face. "I'm sure."

"Because—"

"You know," Sam interrupted. "Being with Dean, if it happens, isn't a sin. That's not what'll keep me from getting into heaven. Maybe I'll kill the wrong thing someday, something that doesn't deserve killing. Maybe I'll make some bad decisions. But being in love with Dean, that's the best part of my life." Sam waited a beat. "Yeah, it sucks that he doesn't feel the same. But it's the only thing I've got going for me."

"Well," the demon said. "That was beautiful. Really, I could cry. I feel all tingly inside."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "So, I'm giving up my powers and you're giving me my soul back, right? So I won't be bothered with having to take over any demonic jobs in the future?"

The demon started smiling, slowly at first until his teeth gleamed in the moonlight. "So you're stepping out of the hierarchy, is that it?"

"I was never in it to begin with," Sam said, shrugging.

"Okay, whatever you say," the demon replied. "But just so we're clear, you're going to let me go, right? You're not going to kill me after this deal is finished? You're going to go back to hunting with your brother, and leave us alone to do as we see fit?"

"Unless I'm hunting you down, then yeah," Sam said, nodding. "I'm not going to be looking for you, if that's what you mean."

"So, if we stay away from you, you'll stay away from us?" The demon said, still smiling.

"Unless it's a hunt," Sam amended. "But otherwise, yeah."

"No more going to the crossroads and making deals?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No," Sam said.

"Sounds good to me," the demon said. "I'm sick and tired of you Winchesters and your double-dealing and your killing us all the time. Unlike my predecessors, I've got no desire to see you lead an army or to kill you to make sure you stay out of my way. The faction of demons that want to see you lead has been getting smaller by the day, thanks to your constant killing of anything demonic, whether or not it's on your side. I'm sure they'll all change their minds soon enough."

"So we've got a deal? I give you my powers and don't kill you, you give me my soul back and don't attack Dean and me?" Sam asked, quickly.

The demon nodded. "Yeah, it's a deal." He grabbed the back of Sam's neck and kissed him, hard, letting him go after a few seconds. Immediately, Sam felt light-headed. He took a step backwards as a jet of black light slowly streamed out of his mouth and moved into the demon's mouth. Once the light was completely gone, a blue-gray wisp of smoke appeared in-between the demon and him, and it moved towards Sam. As it approached, it seemed to get brighter and brighter, until Sam had to close his eyes to the light from it. Then the light was gone, and Sam felt lighter and more clear-headed than he had in a long time. He opened his eyes and looked over at Dean, who had moved closer at some point during the proceedings.

"You okay?" Dean asked.

"Yeah," Sam answered. "Yeah, I'm okay." He turned to the demon and looked at him coldly. "So, are we done here?"

"Yeah, we're done." The demon turned around and walked away, calling over its shoulder, "Have a good life. See you in the after."

Sam turned around, not bothering to respond. He walked back to Dean, who had been standing to the side, watching the demon walk away.

"We good?" Dean asked.

Sam smiled at him, soft and full of unspoken promises. "Yeah," he said, reaching out to wrap his hand around Dean's. "We're good."

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Sam didn't know if he was different, or if Dean was different, or if they both were different. But something had changed, and he wasn't sure what.

It wasn't just that his powers were completely gone, although he was sure that was a part of it. Sam had tried using them for a whole week after the meeting with the newest crossroads demon, to no avail. Even more convincing, though, was that he felt… well, different. He felt complete in a way he had never felt before in his entire life. A hole that he had always had and so hadn't even noticed had suddenly been filled inside of him, and now he wondered how he could have ever missed what must have been a gaping wound. 

They had visited Bobby after Sam had made his last deal, and the reunion had been great for all of them. After that, Dean and Sam had decided to make the rounds, visiting Ellen, Jo, and even their parents' graves. It had been a good decision—seeing all of their old acquaintances had felt right to Sam, and he knew Dean felt the same way.

There was also the matter of Dean. His brother remained a mystery to him, no matter how hard Sam tried to crack through his layer of protection. Dean was closer to him than he had been before, Sam knew that for sure. Dean touched him more—little things, like holding onto his shoulder or nudging him with his elbow. Dean also teased him more, talked to him about things they had never spoken about before, and asked him his opinions on all kinds of topics. Suddenly, Dean seemed interested in the kind of music Sam liked, in Sam's favorite movie, in Sam's favorite books, in the websites Sam liked to visit—in all sorts of areas of Sam's life that Dean had never shown an interest in before, suddenly he wanted to know it all. Dean was also giving Sam more options—he was letting Sam pick some places to eat, where they would head to next, and even sometimes he let Sam pick the music, but only when Sam was driving, of course. They knew everything about each other from years of living together, but Sam found that it was suddenly okay to ask about their two years of separation that had been strictly off-limits before. Sam learned about the hunts Dean had been on, the girls he had picked up, the towns he had visited. Dean learned about the classes Sam had taken, the friends he had made, the clubs and activities he had participated in.

Dean had stopped asking questions about Sam's feelings for him, but he hadn't been picking up any girls, either. They seemed to be at a stalemate of sorts. Sam wasn't able to give up on loving Dean, and Dean wasn't willing to give up on Sam. At least, that was how Sam saw it.

Time passed quickly, as it does when there were plenty of hunts to be had. Without any warning at all, Sam realized it had been an entire year since Dean had come back. That night, he decided to celebrate by ordering Chinese food—a rare occasion for them.

Dean was sitting on his own bed, eating his deluxe meal right out of the metal tin it came in. Sam was sitting facing him on the other bed, slurping soup from his plastic container.

"This… is… awesome," Dean said, fervently. He swallowed and licked his lips. "Thanks, Sammy."

"Well, I had to do something," Sam said. "We made it through a whole year, didn't we?"

Dean nodded and eyed Sam curiously. "So, Sam, I've been meaning to ask you…"

Sam's eyebrows rose. "Yeah? What?"

Dean bit his lower lip and then asked, "Do you still like me?"

Sam blushed a bit and lowered the soup container. "Yeah, Dean. You know I do."

Dean swallowed and nodded. "I kind of figured."

"But, I mean," Sam said, quickly, "this doesn't change things between us, does it? I mean, we can still go on how we've been, right?"

Dean tilted his head. "Actually," he started. He put his food down next to his pillow and looked at Sam intently. "I think this _does_ change things between us."

"Oh," Sam said, quietly. Then, " _Oh_." His stomach dropped and he put his own container down on the table in-between their beds. After all of his work to get things to be normal between them, _now_ Dean was going to leave? It just didn't seem fair. "Dean, you can't leave," Sam protested. "You just _can't_."

"Sam."

"I know I've been hard to deal with, that this whole thing has been tough on you. I'm sorry for it, really, I am, but I've tried my best not to let it interfere with your life in any way. If there's anything else I can do, any way to make this better, just let me know."

"Sam."

"Because I've tried, Dean," Sam continued, ignoring Dean's interruptions. "Really, I have, but I just can't change the way I feel about you! I know it's weird, and wrong, and it freaks you out, but really, I've been acting normal, haven't I? You can just ignore it and forget about it, can't you?"

" _Sam_ ," Dean almost shouted, exasperated. "I'm trying to tell you, I can't just ignore it." Sam's face dropped. "No, Sam, I'm saying—ah, fuck it."

Dean stood up and took the two steps to stand in front of Sam, then leaned down and kissed Sam, right on the mouth. Sam's eyes were wide open and he wasn't expecting it at all. Dean waited patiently a minute and then licked Sam's bottom lip. Sam gasped and Dean's tongue entered his mouth, moving inside of Sam skillfully. After only a minute, Dean pulled away and looked at Sam.

"You get it now?" Dean asked. He scratched the back of his neck and shrugged. "I don't think there's anyone else for me but, you know. You."

Sam looked up at Dean and said, "What?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on, isn't this what you've been wanting? For me to fall on my knees and yell ‘Take me, I'm yours!' Or something equally cheesy, right?"

"Uh," Sam stated, and he couldn't think of anything to say after that.

"Oh, come on," Dean said. "After all that time, this is your reaction? Dude, you suck."

Sam narrowed his eyes at Dean. "Do not."

"Do too," Dean said, raising an eyebrow.

"Do not."

Dean pushed Sam down onto the bed, climbing on top of him to straddle his hips. He leaned forwards over Sam, grinning down at him. "Do," he said, and then darted his tongue out to lick the tip of Sam's nose. "Too."

Sam's breathing sped up. "Dean," he said, quietly. "I… I mean, I really…"

Dean rolled his eyes again. "Shut up, you idiot. I already know, remember?"

Sam reached his right hand up and flicked Dean on the nose. "Jerk."

Dean's grin widened, the corners of his eyes crinkling at the same time. "Bitch." He leaned forward and kissed the corner of Sam's mouth. "But you're my bitch, now, right?" he asked, whispering.

Sam frowned and pushed at Dean's shoulder. "No way, man," he said, loudly. " _You're_ the bitch."

Dean chuckled and kissed Sam again, long and slow this time. Their mouths were open and needy, tongues clashing in the middle. Sam let his eyes fall closed, indulging himself in finally, _finally_ getting what he wanted. They were both safe, they both had their souls, Sam's powers were gone, and they had the rest of their lives to hunt whatever got in their way.

"Well," Dean murmured, voice low with barely contained desire, "I guess we'll figure it out, won't we?"

"Guess so," Sam murmured back, and dragged Dean's mouth back down on his own.

 

_fin._


End file.
